Precariously dangling from a tree,
He mutely eyes the android enemy.
He eyes his goal with puma-like furore,
Then dives through air towards the earthen floor.
Lest others steal his hard-earned, sylvan prize,
His ready senses swiftly scrutinize.
Suspecting something is indeed amiss,
He darts from sight into the shade’s abyss.
Emerging once his humble meal is done,
He breaks into a fleeting little run.
He scampers up the half-dressed, wooden bones
And rests upon the grey limb of his home.
And leafy tears obscure the world below:
The oaks lament their stolen embryos.